


A Mistake of Two Lifetimes

by idreamtofreality



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Complete, I may add more characters as I go along, M/M, also canonverse, happy holidays, i could've made this so much sadder but sadness is a no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2814644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idreamtofreality/pseuds/idreamtofreality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s confused when he wakes up next to his best friend, and angry when said best friend proceeds to profess his freaking love to Dean. But he doesn’t expect that, when he storms off, he’ll walk right into an alternate universe where he and his brother hunt monsters and his best friend is an angel. An actual angel. He also doesn’t get why the muscly version of himself keeps making moon eyes at trench coat Cas. It’s probably just a hunter thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frenchmeafry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchmeafry/gifts).



> I guess this is what happens when one stares at graphs for too long and then, right afterward, thinks about a certain hella gay pairing. Oops. I guess this is my Christmas gift to the internet. I'll be posting the last chapter on December 25, if all goes to plan. Enjoy. Please be brave and leave happy comments.

When Dean wakes up, he’s warm, and this kind of freaks him out.

He doesn’t have a warm dorm. The last time he woke up in a warm bed was when he still moved around between hotels with his dad and Sam--the dorm he lives in now has shitty insulation and a broken heater.

But he’s warm. He’s so fucking warm and the blankets smell awesome so he just lets a smile curl his face before he snuggles into--

Into Cas. Shirtless Cas. Ruffled-hair sleeping Cas, whose arm is wrapped around Dean’s waist. And Dean’s pretty sure the skin pressing up against his leg doesn’t have any clothing covering it.

“What the--” Dean scrambles backward and falls onto the floor with a loud thump. He stares up at the bed in horror as Cas wakes up, blinks at him blearily, and smiles.

“What are you doing on the floor? Come back to bed.”

“What the fuck,” Dean says, not wanting to believe what’s happening here. Cas frowns, his eyebrows drawing together. “What am I doing here? Why am I...” He looks down, realizes he’s only wearing his boxers, and blanches. “What the fuck?”

“You don’t remember?”

Oh. Oh. It’s coming back to him, now. It was the night before, Pam’s party. There was drinking and shouting and music and dancing and Dean was grinding against everybody and then, jokingly, against Cas. He was drunk. Pamela wanted to play truth or dare and Jo egged him on. He chose dare because truth is for sissies like Sam who have nothing in there life to hide and have too much pride to do stupid things.

Pamela and Jo were shouting, laughing. Kiss Cas, kiss Cas.

And Dean had done it, had slithered over to his best friend and placed his mouth over his and they kissed and then the kisses got deeper and they were rubbing against each other, trying to get any sort of friction they could and everybody was laughing and Jo, finally, (get a room, lovebirds) took them home when she realized they were both drunk as hell, except she only dropped them off at Cas’ place, told them to keep an eye on each other so they wouldn’t do something stupid but then they were on the couch and they were kissing again and they were stripping each other’s clothes off and--

Hot, warm mouth against his, Cas’ hands, strong, roaming his body, exploring the curves of Cas’ lean muscles--

The kisses, some tender, some hot, some fierce, thinking why did I wait--

“Shit,” Dean hisses. Cas’ face crumples.

“Dean, last night--”

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” Dean gasps, running a hand through his hair. He looks at Cas accusingly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Me?” Cas sits up. The blankets only cover part of his legs, now, and Dean can see enough that he knows that he was right, that he isn’t even wearing boxers. Shit. “Dean, surely you’ve noticed. I’m in love--”

“Stop.”  Dean puts his hands over his ears, curls his knees to his chest. “Stop, stop, stop. Shut up. Shut up.”

“Dean,” Cas says imploringly.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean snaps. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you do this?”

“It isn’t like you’re innocent,” Cas says, snapping right back. “You kissed me, remember? I didn’t force myself on you. You kissed me.”

“I wasn’t in my right state of mind!” Dean shouts.

“Your right state of mind? Please don’t tell me you don’t feel the exact same way--”

“I don’t,” Dean says flatly. Cas’ face goes white.

“You’re lying.” He whispers the words, so quietly Dean almost doesn’t hear them.

“No, I’m not. I don’t feel the same way.” He stands and picks up the jeans he hopes are his. “This was a mistake. It definitely won’t happen again.”

“Dean.” Cas sounds desperate. “Alcohol just brings out the part of you that you don’t want people to see--”

Dean whirls on him. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ turn this on me. Go fuck yourself, Cas. I don’t want to see you again.”

“Dean, you don’t mean that.” Cas is sliding out of the covers, pulling on jeans that are lying at the foot of the bed.

“Don’t try and tell me what I mean and don’t mean, Castiel.” Dean uses his full name because he knows how much it stings, how much Cas hates his name, hates everything and everyone behind it. And he knows that Cas knows he understands all of this. He knows that Cas knows Dean’s only saying this to make it hurt. And Cas looks like he was punched in the stomach.

Dean pulls on his shirt and grabs his jacket. “You can count on me losing your number,” he says, and then he’s storming out, hearing Cas say one last heartbroken “Dean” before he slams the door shut after him.

He’s so angry. He’s never been this angry before in his entire life, and that’s saying something. He has _John_ as a father, a douchebag who only drank whiskey and pretended his sons were punching bags. At least he knew where John stood.

But _Cas_. Cas is--was--his best friend. He’s supposed to be able to count on the guy. All of those times they grinded against each other on the dance floor were jokes. All of those times a girl came up to Dean and she was really cute but Dean was tired and was too chicken to say no and Cas just sidled up beside him and wrapped an arm around Dean--“Sorry, sweetheart, he’s taken”--in that rumbly voice, they were all jokes. But apparently not to Cas.

He can’t believe he’s been betrayed like this. _Cas_. He fucking slept with _Cas_.

God, how is he supposed to bounce back from this? How are either of them going to bounce back from this?

 _I don’t want to see you again_.

 _You can count on me losing your number_.

Dean can’t imagine bouncing back at all. If he was going to come back from this, it would be bloody and he would be crawling and there would be no bouncing of any kind.

He passes a person struggling to get groceries out of the back seat of their car on the way to the Impala and normally he would help them, carry it in for them, grin good-naturedly and tip an imaginary hat because _I’m here to help_. But right now he’s too angry. He just want to hit something, to scream at somebody. So he glowers at them as he moves by, and they give him a wary look in return, probably unsure about whether or not he’s going to murder them if they turn their back. He doesn’t really blame them--he looks pretty menacing when he’s angry.

When he gets into the Impala, he slams the door after himself and peels out, grateful for the rumble beneath him, grateful for Nirvana blasting through the radio, grateful for the distractions, that he can scream along ( _Hey! Wait! I’ve got a new complaint, forever in debt to your priceless advice, your advice_ ) to the music and drive blindly, wildly, without a clue as to where he is going, almost crashing into several cars until he finally pulls onto a dirt road.

He drives for what seems like hours, cycling through his mixtapes until the music doesn’t help drown it out anymore, and then he pulls over next to this giant-ass barn that looks like it hasn’t been touched in decades and he screams and throws rocks at it, cussing at Cas for kissing him, cussing out Jo for egging them on and taking them to the same goddamn place when she knows they’re both drunk as fuck, cussing out Pamela for having the fucking party in the first place. He screams at the sky and he screams at the giant barn and he screams at his Impala, which is just a reminder of how much of a fuck-up his dad was, and how much of a fuck-up he’ll be even though he’s trying so very hard to be everything his dad wasn’t.

He screams until his voice is hoarse, and then he storms into the barn, looking, seeking, wanting something he can destroy, and walks right into a giant circle of light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, folks. So apology beforehand: things might get a little confusing with both Deans. I've made one just 'Dean' and the other 'Other Dean' because, okay, this is in our familiar hunter Dean's POV and how creative did you expect him to be?
> 
> Also, blatant quoting of canon. Sorry about that. Y'all will probably know what it is.

“What the--” Dean stares at the light, grips his Taurus tighter at his side, and sends a confused look to Sam. His brother returns the same look, lifting his shoulders in a ‘why would I fucking know?’ gesture.

“Dean.” Cas is suddenly beside him, breathing on his neck. “You need to leave. Now.”

“What?” Dean twists, and he can see, behind Cas, Sam is still looking bewildered. “Why?”

Cas isn’t looking at him. He’s just staring at the light with a very serious expression, frowning in that same way he always does. “Dean, you really need to leave.” He looks toward him slowly, and his frown deepens. “This is big.”

“Big?” Sam says. “Big? Bigger than the apocalypse? Bigger than me having no soul?”

“It’s--”

Then the light flares bright and all Dean can see is a dark shape hurling toward him, and then it collides with him and Dean topples over, pulling his finger off the trigger just in time to not shoot Cas or Sam as he fell.

“What the actual fuck?”

Once the light clears and Dean can actually see properly again, he can see that the guy who collided with him is scrawny and not really heavy at all, and he has weird hair and that’s all that Dean can see because he’s lying on top of him.

“Ugh,” says the guy in a hoarse voice, pushing away. “Sorry. What the fuck.”

Dean rolls over and tucks the gun back into his jacket. He can see that Cas is standing next to Sam, helping him up, and he knows they’re both in good hands, so he just looks over at the guy who had the nerve to fucking _fly_ into him.

And he freezes.

The guy is skinny. He was right. And he has this weird short faux-hawk thing with the tips in the front dyed bright electric blue. He’s wearing a Rolling Stones shirt and these long tattered jeans and he’s got like a million piercings on his face--his nose between his nostrils, two beneath his lips, one between his eyes, and giant fucking _holes_ in his ears that look like they’re being forced apart with these green rings.

But the most important thing is that he’s _Dean_.

He doesn’t look like Dean. He’s actually Dean. If Dean had skipped every workout he ever had (and every cheeseburger) and got a whole bunch of holes poked into him on purpose and if Dean was like ten years younger.

They both stare at each other.

They both say, “What the _fuck_?” at the same time, in the exact same way, and then continue staring at each other in horror.

“Cas,” Dean says. “CAS.”

Cas is, again, suddenly next to him, and he helps them both up. “Dean,” he says to the actual real Dean, “I told you this would be big.”

“Cas,” Dean says, “That’s. That’s me. Christo?”

His punk version just stares at Cas with _Dean’s_ green eyes, opening and closing his mouth. “You’re Cas,” he says, and Dean squints at him. “You’re.” He looks the angel up and down. “You’re Cas.” Dean can’t help but notice that he says Cas’ name with extreme bitterness.

“I am,” says Cas gravely. “I should probably explain.”

Sam has finally joined them and is staring at Other Dean. The bewildered expression seems to have become a permanent thing. “Yeah, you should probably do that, Cas.”

Other Dean gapes at Sam. “And you’re Sam. What the fuck? You’re, like, seventy feet tall.”

Dean can’t help but snigger, but he hides it behind a hand and looks over at Cas. “Cas, man, you’ve got to explain things, like, now.”

“He’s from an alternate universe,” Cas says. He takes off his coat and Dean has a brief moment of panic because Cas never takes his coat off, but then he sees that Other Dean is shivering and hugging his arms. But Other Dean backs away from the offer, shaking his head. “You’re cold,” Cas says, sounding frustrated.

“No, seriously, I don’t need it.”

Cas makes a frustrated sound. “An alternate universe,” he says again, finally looking back at Dean. “A universe in which you aren’t a hunter, and neither is Sam, I presume.” He waits for a moment, watching Other Dean for any sort of reaction, but nothing comes. “It is entirely plausible monsters don’t even exist.”

“Wait. If you aren’t a hunter,” Sam says, “Does that mean our parents aren’t alive? Mom’s alive?”

Other Dean blinks at him. “No. Mom died in a fire when we were younger. Gas line failure. And dad got a bad case of CVD.”

Dean doesn’t know what the fuck that means, but Sam leans a bit closer to him and whispers, “Cardiovascular disease. Probably from the alcohol.”

“Drank himself to death,” Other Dean says, shrugging. “He was an asshole. I can’t say I miss him.”

Sam smirks over at Dean, now, and Dean knows it’s because his alternate self is admitting his dad is an asshole and Sam just fucking knows that that means Dean feels the exact same way no matter how much he denies it.

“Cas,” Dean says, pointedly ignoring Sam.

“It’s also possible,” Cas continues, “That most of the people that you know are also in this universe.”

“Even the dead ones?” Sam asks.

Other Dean looks mortified.

“Bobby. Ellen. Jo,” Sam says, and then continues to list a whole bunch of people and the list is so long that Dean finds himself wondering how they even get through the day when so many of their friends have died because of them. Other Dean just listens intently, and when Sam’s done, he nods.

“They’re all alive, as far as I know. I just saw...” He looks at Cas, so quickly that Dean almost doesn’t notice it. “I just saw Pamela and Jo. And Sam. Sam’s still small and in high school.” Sam grins and runs a hand through his too-long hair. “You’re older than me, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” Sam says. “You’re tiny.”

Other Dean scowls at him.

“Cas,” Dean says. “Next time, when Sam’s a bitch and interrupts, just keep going before beanpole answers.”

“Not a beanpole,” protests Other Dean, sounding offended. “I’m just not on steroids like you. I run. Like Cas.” Again, he says the name with an extreme amount of bitterness that Dean can’t get himself to ignore.

He snorts instead of acknowledging it. “Right. Because Cas runs.”

“Dean,” says Cas.

“Cas _flies_ ,” says Dean.

Other Dean just raises an eyebrow at him. “I hope that isn’t some shitty metaphor. Please tell me that isn’t a shitty metaphor.”

“Dean,” Cas says again.

“Cas is a fuckin’ _angel_ ,” Dean says.

Other Dean just opens and closes his mouth. “That isn’t a metaphor, either, is it?”

“You’re in an alternate universe,” Cas says loudly to Other Dean. “There are monsters and angels and demons in this world. Your alternate self and alternate brother both hunt the creatures that hurt people. They’ve done many great things. They’ve stopped Hell from overrunning the world. They’ve resisted death. They stopped the apocalypse, stopped Lucifer. They endured soullessness, they endured hell.”

“Okay, Cas,” says Dean, before he can go any further. He pats him on the back lightly. “We get that you’re super proud of us or whatever. Can you get to the point?”

Cas fixes him with a steely gaze, and Dean feels a shiver run down his back. “I say alternate universe rather than parallel universe because your universes are like two separate intersecting lines.”

“Right,” says Dean, not following.

“He’s just like him,” Other Dean mutters, probably to himself. “Nothing he says makes sense.”

“Cas,” Sam says, looking deeply disappointed in the both of them. He pulls out a receipt from his back pocket and scribbles onto it two lines that run next to each other. “Look. Deans. Parallel lines. They never intersect.”

“Cross,” says Other Dean, looking at Dean. “They don’t cross.”

“Right,” says Dean. Sam rolls his eyes, scribbles something else onto the receipt, and holds it back up for everybody to see. This time, the two lines are tilted toward each other and cross somewhere in the middle.

“Look. These intersect at one point. Once. And then they go in opposite directions.”

“Precisely,” says Cas. “Your universes are each represented by one of the lines. Universes are typically parallel lines, never to intersect. For some reason, your universes do intersect. But this is the only time this will ever happen.”

“Wait,” says Other Dean, clearly coming to some kind of conclusion Dean isn’t getting. “I need to get back home. How do I get home? Can I get home? Was that the only point?”

Cas tilts his head. “The universes should remain to be connected for a short period of time, enough to get you back home.”

“And how much time is that?” Other Dean and Sam ask at the same time.

“Until about five in the afternoon tomorrow,” says Cas. “We have about thirty-six hours. We should get somewhere safe. This...barn. It isn’t safe.”

Dean looks around, just now remembering that they were here on a hunt. It was just a ghost, though--Dean’s arm is a bit sore and he knows that Sam has a few scratches, but they pretty much got through it without a hitch. Until the wall of the barn lit up and Other Dean came hurtling through.

“Right,” he says. “Ghosts and shit.” He decides not to mention the burned body in the corner, just in case his pierced and tattooed self is squeamish.

Other Dean pulls his arms tighter around himself, looking weirdly small and vulnerable. Dean wonders if he ever looked as innocent as that.

“I’ll take you to the motel,” says Cas, looking at Other Dean. “You need to be in a safe place as soon as possible. We don’t want to risk you getting harmed. Sam and Dean can stay here and...” He looks over at them, and they blink at him. “Clean up.” There’s so much meaning behind that word, and Dean can see a little smile curl at the corner of Cas’ mouth, almost like he’s proud of them. They defeated a ghostie all by themselves. Cas didn’t even show up until the light appeared. Clean up the body. Clean up the remains of that ghost who killed fifteen people in the nearest town.

He steps toward Other Dean but the guy just backs away quickly, almost cowering. “No, I’m good. I’ll just stay here.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Cas says.

“Seriously,” says Other Dean flatly. “I can wait. I’m sure nothing will eat me if I just stay inside a barn for a few more minutes.”

Dean looks over at Sam and they both frown at each other. Dean raises his eyebrows a little which means ‘ _what the fuck is up with him_ ’ and Sam shrugs a little which could either mean ‘ _fuck if I know_ ’ or ‘ _why don’t you ask, bitch_?’

“Cas,” Dean says. “He can stay. As long as he isn’t squeamish about dead bodies.”

“Did you _kill_ somebody?”

“We killed a ghost.” Sam says this almost eagerly, like he’s going to start nerding out over the fact that they’re hunters. “To kill a ghost, you have to burn their remains. So the body’s just a skeleton.”

“Oh,” says Other Dean, “Because that’s so much better.”

Cas is frowning. “I shouldn’t leave you here.”

“I don’t want to go with you,” Other Dean snaps, and everybody reels back a bit.

“Very well,” says Cas, giving him a strange look. “I’ll see you back at the motel.” And then he flies away. Dean brushes his hands together.

“Okay, Sammy. I say you take care of the bones.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Right, Dean. Whatever you say.”

Other Dean is standing off to the side a little bit, looking uncomfortable. It’s weird, seeing himself like that. All tattooed and pierced with his hair all spiked up. Dean wonders briefly if he should try the look out once Other Dean is gone, and then he shoves that thought away, because he definitely would not be able to pass off as an FBI agent, and monsters probably wouldn’t take him seriously.

And, you know. Dean’s all rough and tumble. And not punk. That’s definitely the main reason.

He has to admit it looks pretty good, though. Most things look good on Dean, but this looks especially good.

“You’re staring,” Sam mutters out of the side of his mouth.

“You know how weird this is, Sam?” Dean asks defensively. “I’ve got _myself_ standing in front of me.”

“Because I have no idea what that feels like,” Sam says, dry.

“Can I help with anything?” Other Dean asks.

“How are you with dead things?”

“Okay, I guess. Wherever we lived there was a dead animal nearby, so I’m not going to freak out or anything. I hope.”

Sam directs him to do something that Dean doesn’t pay attention to, because he’s picking up all of the evidence of their fight and putting it in less conspicuous places. Then he hears Sam say, “So. You move around a lot still?”

Dean looks over, and he sees Other Dean crouching by their duffle bag and carefully putting their weapons in with a weird look directed at Sam, who’s standing a bit off to the side and placing all the charred bones into a paper bag. “No. I got out of that. I was sick of it, and dad was an abusive asshole. I’m in college, now.”

Dean gapes, and he can see Sam’s making a surprised face, too.

“College?” Sam says, clearly trying to hide his astonishment.

“Yeah,” Other Dean says, shrugging and zipping up the duffel bag. “I’m studying to be a teacher. I want to teach high school.”

“That’s. Cool.”

“Why are you so surprised?” Oops. He noticed. Dean can see Sam’s desperately trying to come up with an answer that doesn’t sound asshole-ish.

“It isn’t you. Well, kind of. Dean,” Sam says, gesturing to actual Dean, “He hated school. He did anything he could to get out of it. And, well, when I tried to go to college, he gave me a lot of shit for it.”

“What’d you study for?” asks Other Dean.

“I, uh, wanted to be a lawyer. Until Hell opened up and demons came pouring out and I realized I couldn’t ever have that kind of life.”

“A lawyer,” says Other Dean thoughtfully. Dean can actually feel himself trying to mimic Other Dean’s expressions, his brain understanding, too, that this is completely wrong. “Huh. Maybe I’ll suggest that to my Sammy. He’d like that.”

Sam grins. “I’d like to give him a few pointers.”

“Write it down. If I get back, I’ll give it to him.”

If he gets back. Dean wonders what he would do if he couldn’t get back. Stay with them? Become a hunter? Or would he go to the nearest college and study to be a teacher?

A teacher. Dean actually wouldn’t mind that. He’s pretty good with kids.

“Hey, question,” says Sam, now picking up the paper bag and gesturing for Other Dean to pick up the duffel, “What’s up with you and Cas?”

Other Dean ducks his head, like he’s embarrassed. “Nothing,” he says. Sam smiles.

“Come on, Dean. I know my brother and that means that I know you. You--”

“Sam,” Dean cuts in, feeling a bit sorry for Other Dean, who is looking more and more uncomfortable with each word that Sam says. “Back off. Let the guy have some privacy, huh?”

Other Dean gives him a grateful look, and Dean nods back.

“Okay, then,” says Sam. “We can bury this somewhere far away, and then we’ll head back. Who’s driving?”

“I am,” both Deans say at the exact same time.

“Um, excuse and fuck you,” Dean says, “My Impala, my rules.”

“Also my Impala, since I’m you,” Other Dean argues.

“Whatever. You probably don’t take good enough care of her.”

“You’re one to talk,” Sam says. “You took a crowbar to her a few years ago.”

Other Dean’s eyes widen. “A _crowbar_?” he says, and Dean shrinks in a little on himself. That wasn’t his best moment. Then Other Dean says, “Nah, it’s cool. As long as you fixed and polished her up. I took a sledgehammer to her when dad died. I can’t blame you.”

Dean relaxes. “You know,” he says, “You aren’t half bad.”

“Awesome. Then I call shotgun.”

“Remember,” Dean says.

“Driver chooses music, shotgun shuts his cakehole?” Other Dean asks, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, but that rule only applies when Sammy’s being a bitch.”

“Hey,” says Sam, not really sounding offended at all. He’s holding the paper bag in one giant arm and his phone in the other, probably scrolling through the news feed or something.

“I’m choosing the music,” Other Dean says, clapping Dean on the back. “Believe me. I’ve got good taste. I hope you’ll trust me.”

“Right,” says Dean. “If you put on anything embarrassing, I’m going to throw you out the door.”

Other Dean laughs, rolls his eyes again, and climbs in.

 

Dean pretends he isn’t embarrassed to be staying in a shit motel. The wallpaper is weird and the bedcovers are weird and there are weird stains everywhere but Other Dean just walks in like he’s done this before and drops onto the couch, folding his legs underneath him. Dean collapses next to him and rests his muddy boots on the coffee table.

“Dude, you’re making a mess,” Sam says, then asks, “Are you hungry?” and opens up the mini fridge to scan the contents. “I can go out and get something, if you want.”

“Nah,” Other Dean says. He reaches for the remote and switches the television on. “I’m cool.”

Cas appears with a gust of wind, sending the papers Sam’s spread over the table into Dean’s face. “Hey,” he growls, pushing them away, while Sam scrambles to pick everything up.

“I need to talk to you,” he says to Other Dean in a really serious voice, almost as serious as the time he pushed Dean up against the counter and threatened to throw him back in hell if he didn’t show respect.

Dean shivers a little and Sam gives him a funny look.

Other Dean is reaching for the remote. “I don’t want to talk to you,” he says.

“Dean.”

“I really don’t want to talk to you.” Now he sounds almost desperate, pleading for Cas to back off. Dean wonders if he should step in and defend himself again. ( _Defend myself_ , he thinks, _That’s pretty good. Heh. Defend myself._ )

Cas drops down to a crouch so he can look Other Dean in the eye. Dean can’t remember Cas ever doing that to him. Cas is always towering over him. Dean tries not to get angry at the special treatment. “I am not the Castiel that you left in your other universe,” he says, deadly calm and quiet. Other Dean can’t seem to break his gaze, and Dean can’t blame him. “Whatever that Castiel did to you, I did not do. I am an angel of the Lord. I am a celestial being. I am a seraph with six wings and I could smite you where you sit if I so please. I. Am not. Your Castiel.”

Other Dean blinks. His eyes are wide, very wide. “Right,” he says.

“If we could speak privately, then.”

Other Dean shoots a look toward Dean, and Dean gives him the subtlest of nods, hoping his other self will understand. _He’s okay. You can trust him._ Then he gets up and he rubs his bare, tattooed arms, and goes into the other room with Cas.

Dean stretches out and Sam gives him a pitiful look. He isn’t sure what it’s for.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you guys didn't know, this fic is completely unbeta'd, so if there are any mistakes, let me know and I'll fix it. Feedback is much appreciated, so thanks for everything I've been getting so far.
> 
> Also let me know how you like my margarita line. I don't know why I'm so proud of that.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” the angel Cas says as soon as they get inside the room. Dean flops onto the bed and settles his arms under his head. “Dean. I can’t get you back home if you don’t cooperate.” After a moment of silence, he says, “You’re infuriating.”

“Thank you,” says Dean, and he knows he’s being an annoying bitch but he’s angry at his Cas right now and this guy has Cas’ face.

“Tell me what’s wrong. I am not your Castiel.”

“My Castiel,” Dean mutters, “Right.”

Cas just tilts his head at him.

“I can’t even _call_ him Castiel, you know that? He hates his name. He hates his family. He’d do anything to stay away from them. He told me he’d do anything to keep me from meeting them.”

There are a lot of responses Dean could have seen coming, like an irritable sigh from Cas, or maybe a _Dean, that isn’t the point_ or _for once tell me what’s wrong I’ve been waiting for seventy-two centuries_ or however old he is. Dean isn’t even sure, but he’s an angel and typically angels are pretty old, right? The response Dean doesn’t see coming, though, is a deep, throaty chuckle, which is exactly how Cas responds. Dean looks over at him curiously.

“Well,” Cas says, “I suppose that doesn’t differ from the reality of this universe. My family is an army of angels that tried to start the apocalypse. I doubt your Castiel hates them, though he may resent them. That is how I am. I dislike that I am related to them because they have done horrible things, but I am not...” He steeples his fingers under his chin. “I do not hate them. Sometimes I wish that I could have been human instead of an angel, or perhaps some other creature, but I do not hate them.”

“Not the same with Cas,” says Dean stubbornly.

“Dean, this universe may not be parallel with yours, but it has many parallel qualities.”

“So.” Dean tries to piece everything together. “You mean that some things are similar even though it isn’t a parallel universe.”

“Yes.”

“Like?”

“If Sam were to say the word ‘jerk’ to you, how would you reply?”

“I’d call him a bitch.” Cas twitches his fingers and the door creaks open. Dean can hear the other two men talking in the main room.

“Sam, toss me the remote. And get me a beer.”

“Do it yourself, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

The door slides shut again, and Dean just kind of stares at Cas. “Two separate universes,” Cas says quietly. “Two completely separate universes, two men who grew up in completely different ways have developed the same habits, the same sayings. Like I said. Parallel in some ways.”

Dean looks back over at the closed door. “That’s trippy.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Wow, straight to the point. “I did something stupid.”

“Something stupid,” Cas repeats. His eyes feel like they’re boring into Dean’s head, searching through his brain. Dean finally breaks his gaze.

“Just something stupid. It’s nothing.”

“Dean, I can’t get you back home if you don’t trust me.”

“You don’t need to know why I’m pissed at you,” Dean says, irritable again. “You don’t need to know anything about my personal life to--”

“It isn’t a matter of which detail,” Cas interrupts. “It’s the fact that you can share it. If you cannot trust me enough to tell me something that does not apply or affect me in the slightest, then how do you expect me to believe that you’ll trust me enough to send you back into another dimension?”

Oh. Dean didn’t really look at it like that. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll tell you. But only because you’re a celestial being who can smite me whenever.” This Cas smiles at. “I slept with him.”

Nothing about Cas’ face changes. “Slept with whom?” He actually uses the word ‘whom’. Dean could have seen the wings and seen Cas fly and seen Cas’ fucking halo but this--this is what convinces him. ‘Whom’. Nobody actually says that.

He takes a deep breath. “I slept with you. Cas from my universe, I mean. The guy who doesn’t have wings and wears sweaters and majors in art history.”

“Art has always fascinated me,” Cas murmurs. Dean gapes at him.

“That doesn’t freak you out at all?”

“No,” Cas says, “I’m sure, though, that I would be much more concerned if you had slept with his body, but that Castiel, as I said before, is not me.”

Dean doesn’t know how to respond to this. He had expected a weird look or maybe Cas shifting away from him. Like he was shifting away from Cas, Dean notices, a little surprised.

“Anyway,” he says, “It was stupid. And fucking Cas, man...” He curls his hands into fists. “He just acted like it was the most normal thing in the world to sleep with your best friend.”

“You’re angry,” Cas observes.

“Of course I’m angry,” Dean snaps. “Now I don’t have best friend anymore. Am I just supposed to be okay with that?”

Cas doesn’t say anything. He just nods and opens the door and Dean takes that to mean that their talk is over, so he gratefully bounces to his feet and drops back onto the couch next to Sam and Dean 2. They’re watching some sit-com that neither of them is really paying attention to; Sam is looking at stuff on his laptop and Dean is reading over his shoulder.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam says when he realizes the angel’s come in. “I think we found another case here. People are disappearing. Ten so far.”

“Probably humans,” Dean 2 says. “Twenty bucks says humans.”

“Humans,” Cas says quietly.

Sam continues as if Dean 2 and Cas hadn’t opened their mouths. “Looks like they have a type. Each victim has tattoos and a record.” They all look at Dean, who’s picked up the remote and begun surfing channels.

“I don’t have a record,” he says. Sam smiles.

“Lucky you. Dean and I are both down for murder and other satanic things. Anyway,” he says, like being wanted for murder and satanic things was the most normal thing in the world, and continues to list a whole bunch of random facts that Dean doesn’t have the capacity to absorb because Sam says things like “it’s like that Wendigo case a few years back” and “Dean, your Taurus won’t do shit against a kelpie” and Dean responding with things like “but those were fairies, Sam, you can’t just sprinkle salt on your ass and call yourself a margarita” so he just zones out and flips through channels until he realizes there’s nothing good on. Finally he looks over at Sam’s screen to see if there’s anything interesting on there, at least. It displays a picture of a man, shirtless, throat slashed, slumped against the wall.

“Gross,” Dean says, “But nice ink.”

“That’s the only connection,” Sam says, sounding frustrated. “That and the fact that they have a record. They all turned up in different places at different times, all went to different prisons, all had different home towns.”

Dean leans closer to the picture, squinting. “That’s weird.”

“What is?” They’re all looking at him.

“Well, look.” Dean points at the man’s torso. “Those tattoos are all high quality and pretty old. This one,” he says, now pointing at the letters above the man’s heart, is shit and didn’t heal properly. And it looks pretty new. See how it’s a little red?”

Dean 2 leans closer, too. “ _Caveam quattuordecim_ ,” he reads, then looks over at Cas. “Cage fourteen.”

“Yes,” says Cas.

Dean stares at his other self. “You can read Latin?”

“Of course I do. I’m fluent,” Dean 2 says, “It’s in the job description.”

“Cage fourteen,” says Sam thoughtfully. “Do you think his captor did that to him?”

“You could always check the other bodies,” Dean says. Sure enough, when they pull the pictures up, every body has a label on it. Dean can tell his counterpart is impressed.

“Nice call, man. So what does it mean?”

“They’ve been kept for long periods of time,” Cas says. He’s standing by the window and gazing out. Dean isn’t sure what he could possibly be staring at; there’s only an empty parking lot and a desolate highway. He twists to look at Dean 2. “Whoever said they were only missing a few days was lying.”

“Their families reported them missing a day before they were found,” says Sam, scrolling through a page with way too many words.

Cas’ lips press together. He’s still looking at Dean 2, and Dean 2 is staring right back. “Perhaps you should interview them again,” he says, then: “But it is getting late. You should all get some sleep.”

“Cas,” Dean 2 whines, “We need to do research.”

Sam shoots him a look. “Right, because you’ll totally be researching if I give you the computer.”

“You need to sleep,” Cas says, this time to everybody and not just Dean. “All of you do. We need to return Dean home and you both need to solve a case. I will find the addresses you need.”

“Cas,” says Dean 2. “You don’t need to--”

“Go to sleep, Dean,” says Cas, speaking only to Dean 2 again. “I’ll watch over you.”

A shiver runs down Dean’s back, because it sounds just like Cas every time Dean was telling him shit about his father and sobbing from a mixture of hopelessness and exhaustion. He would pull Dean closer to him and whisper in that gravelly voice of his, “it’s okay, Dean. Sleep. I’ll watch over you” and for some reason that always calmed Dean right down.

This makes Dean angry, and he glowers down at his hands. Cas had to fucking ruin everything. And here was this universe’s Cas, a fucking angel, comforting the other Dean just like his Cas had.

It’s fine. It isn’t like they’re going to sleep with each other, too, Dean thinks.

Dean 2 speaks, bringing Dean out of his thoughts. “Fine,” he says, standing. “I call one of the beds. You two can share the other bed or somebody can sleep on the couch.”

Sam looks over at Dean. “Um, I’m kind of awful to sleep with. I can take the couch.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m used to small, shitty beds. Besides,” he adds, shooting over a wry look, “You’re a sasquatch. You won’t fit on this couch.”

Sam snorts. “That’s what Dean calls me. Thanks.” He gets up and walks over to the other bed like four feet away. This is the weirdest motel room Dean’s ever been in--the bathroom’s awkwardly small, one of the beds has its own room, and there’s a crap couch resting against the other bed, which is right next to the door. Dean cannot think of any scenario where this would actually work out and make sense.

The couch shakes a little when Sam collapses on the bed, and Cas says, “I’ll be right back,” before he disappears into Dean 2’s tiny room. They can hear their voices through the wall, low and unintelligible.

“So,” Sam says, “Teacher, huh? What subject?”

“Creative writing,” says Dean, and he can feel his face burn hot. “I’m probably not going to get a job anywhere, though. I mean, I started getting tattoos and piercings before anybody told me that those kinds of things screw up job opportunities.”

Sam doesn’t have any sort of response for this, so Dean keeps going.

“I thought it was super stupid, so I just kept going. I guess I didn’t want to believe people would be total assholes and assume that anybody with a little ink was a criminal.”

“People are assholes,” says Sam. Dean’s surprised.

“That doesn’t seem like something you would say. Or, at least, my Sam.”

“Well, that’s what happens when people keep turning their backs on you.” Sam sighs. “Basically, the only people who haven’t screwed us over are dead. I can only depend on Cas and Dean, really.”

“That sounds awful.”

“It’s life. I’m getting used to it.”

Dean doesn’t like how this Sam is. Broken. It’s like he’s been torn apart over and over and couldn’t put all of his pieces back together again. Dean’s Sam--the nerdy, gangly kid who’s still a junior in high school--he’s hopeful. He’s bright. He smiles and tries to cheer Dean up even when there’s a massive shit storm raging around them.

“Man,” he whispers. “What the hell happened to you?”

Sam laughs, but it doesn’t sound genuine. It sounds like he’s trying to hide a sob. “I did something really, really stupid. I screwed things up. I was selfish and I was power hungry and it ended up fucking everybody over. Fucking _Cas_ had to come down and help clean up after me.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” says Dean, trying to be a little bit comforting and knowing that he’s failing miserably.

“You don’t really understand. I betrayed my brother. I drank demon blood and I told myself that it was because I was trying to help, but I knew that I just wanted to feel powerful. I started the _apocalypse_ , Dean.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Sam says bitterly. “ _Oh_.”

“But you made up for it, didn’t you?”

“Dean, you can’t bounce back from something like that. That sort of thing just drowns everything else out, you know?”

“Yeah,” Dean says quietly, and all he can think about is waking up next to Cas, scrambling backward, having the night before flash through his head. “Yeah, I know.”

“I try and make up for it. I ended the apocalypse, for god’s sake. I let Lucifer possess me and then I overpowered him and jumped into Hell. And that still doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Someday, Sam,” Dean says. “Someday, you’ll do something that will overpower everything, even your mistakes. Someday you’ll do something so great that even you will know that it makes up for it. Starting the apocalypse will seem small compared to how big this is, like a stubbed toe or something. And this--this’ll be like winning the biggest award of your life. You’ll be able to enjoy life and not just say that you’re ‘getting used to it’.”

“How do you know?” Sam’s voice sounds so small, and it’s odd, because Dean knows that it’s coming from this giant of a man.

“Because you’re a great man, Sam Winchester. Because I know that if you’re anything like my Sam, you’ll sacrifice the world for the ones you love and you deserve so much better than you’re getting.” Dean’s writing is really coming in handy right now. It’s helping Dean get the words out, helping him say what he actually wants to say, what Sam needs to hear, what the truth is. “Someday it’ll get better, Sam. Someday you’ll be happy.”

“I don’t think you really get how our lives work,” Sam says, “But thank you. That helps.”

Dean rolls over and curls up his knees. “You’re welcome.”

Cas comes back in, apparently finally done with talking to Dean 2, and stoops down to the coffee table to pick up the laptop. He glances over at Dean as he straightens again. “Are you doing okay?” he asks quietly. “I know this must be strange for you. Sam and Dean are both used to these things happening, but you’ve never experienced the supernatural before.”

“Well, he doesn’t look a lot like me, except for his face,” Dean says, and then smiles. “I can deal with it. I’ve seen weird things before. Maybe not supernatural weird things, but, you know. My best fri--Cas, I mean, takes art history, and there's some weird shit in that class.”

Cas chuckles and drapes a blanket over him. “I’m sure. Sleep well, Dean.”

Dean watches him as he moves over to the kitchen counter, opens up the laptop, and bends over the dimly lit screen. He’s a lot like his Cas, Dean realizes, but not exactly. This Cas dresses differently (Dean expects that’s an angel thing) and he moves in this weird way that looks like he would be graceful but doesn’t fit in his body right and he doesn’t smile nearly as much. But his smile is also exactly the same. And when he’s frustrated, he huffs and frowns and makes his voice lower and more growling. And his eyes, too, look like they’re seeing the world for the first time and they’re amazed by everything in it. This Cas also has a staring problem, but he only stares at Dean 2, which Dean decides is appropriate.

He likes him. He likes this Cas. He’s different and he’s odd and he doesn’t seem like he knows how to be human but he likes him.

Dean turns over, pulls the blanket tighter around himself, and pretends his stomach isn’t twisting with how much he misses his Cas.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, folks. So apparently I can’t count worth shit (I swear I can do math. Just not counting) and if one begins to post a five-chapter fic on the 20th, with one chapter on each day, they will run out of fics on the 24th. But I promised you all that I’ll be done on the 25th, so I’ll just write another chapter. Y’all will be getting 6 chapters. Merry Christmas.  
> More blatant quoting of canon. The line’s not mine.  
> Also, warning: sappy convo between Deans. Probably totally OOC, but really, how do we know? We don’t know how Dean would talk to himself if his other self wasn’t a total asshole (*cough* season 3 *cough*) so instead of more synchronized speaking I’ve made them super cheesy and stupid. I apologize for the general messiness, and enjoy.

“Rise and shine, Sammy,” says Dean 2 loudly, and Dean groans and rolls over, covering his ears. He can feel Sam get up and lumber toward the kitchen.

“Don’t like getting woken up like this?” Sam asks, poking him as he passes by. “If you do this to your brother, now you know how it feels.”

“God, I will apologize to him profusely,” Dean moans unhappily, pushing himself to a seated position. Cas is standing exactly where he was the night before, staring at the computer.

“I’ve got the addresses you need here,” he says, looking up as Dean 2 moves past him and starts the coffee pot. “I am going to go ask some allies if they know anything about alternate universes, and one of you needs to stay home and continue research, as well.”

“I’ll interview people,” Sam offers. “I can’t stand being stuck in motels.”

“Right,” Dean 2 scoffs. “Because you totally hate being stuck in libraries.”

“Libraries _smell_ nice,” says Sam. “This motel room smells like shit.”

“Guess I’ll be stuck here with myself,” Dean 2 says mournfully, and then starts laughing his ass off. Sam and Dean look at each other and roll their eyes, but a laugh escapes Dean’s lips, and then he’s off, too, bending over and clutching his stomach.

“I’m crying,” he gasps, wiping at his eyes. “God, that was so stupid, but I’m fucking _crying_.”

Dean 2 smirks once he stops laughing.

“Dean, don’t look so smug,” Sam says. He pulls out some of the shit motel mugs and rinses them out. “You made yourself laugh. Big deal.”

“Stop raining on my parade.” Dean 2 nudges Dean. “It was pretty funny, though, wasn’t it?”

“I was _crying_ ,” says Dean, because he feels like that sums up everything.

Sam’s pouring coffee, now. “Cas, you want something?”

“I still have no need for any foods or drinks,” Cas says, still bent over the computer. He clicks something and frowns at the screen. “I’m going to go.” And then he just disappears. Dean frowns at the empty space.

“Does he do that a lot?”

“Oh god, it’s so annoying,” Dean 2 sighs, snatching one of the mugs. “Seriously. You’re talking to him and just. Poof. Gone.”

“That was mostly during the apocalypse, though,” Sam says, and when he looks up, he seems to realize that both Deans are staring at him in horror. “What?”

“Do you see how much sugar you’re putting in there?” they both ask at the same time. Sam scowls at them.

“That isn’t funny.”

“Well, we aren’t doing it on purpose,” Dean 2 says. “Come on, me. Let’s set up a nice comfortable spot for us to do some ‘research’.” He lifts his hands to make quotation marks, and Dean snorts.

“Seriously, Dean,” says Sam, finally done with adding sugar and scooping up the sugar packets so he can toss it in the garbage. “You need to figure this out so he can go back home.”

“That’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you, actually,” Dean 2 says. “If we didn’t get you back, what would you do? Become a hunter? Like Sam and me?”

Dean deflates a little. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he didn’t get home in time, but he guesses now it’s probably important. They have until about six in the morning to figure it out. It doesn’t seem like enough time.

What would he do? It isn’t like he could get a scholarship again and go to college. And--

“I don’t know the first thing about hunting,” he says.

“And we would never drag you into this life,” Sam says before Dean 2 can reply. “Hunting is the kind of thing that you’re forced into, and it’s a hard life. Especially if you’re...well, if you’re a Winchester.”

“Come on, Sam,” Dean 2 says, “Lets’ be realistic. We’ve been on the most wanted list, like, twelve times. What makes you think he isn’t going to get shit for having my face?”

Dean’s stomach sinks further.

“We don’t need to worry about it right now.” Sam tosses the rest of his coffee back and drops the mug into the sink. “We’ll get you home, Dean. I’m going to go suit up.”

“Suit,” Dean repeats, a little dumbfounded.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Dean 2 says. “There’s a lot of roleplaying in this job--”

“Dean,” Sam sighs, “You could have phrased that so much better than you did.”

“--so that requires dressing the part.”

“With cheap suits.” Dean raises his eyebrows and his counterpart shrugs.

“Not like we’re rolling in money, here. Ad if anybody asks, we just tell them the bureau’s a little low on funds and complain about politics. Works every time.”

“That it does,” Sam says, stripping off his shirt.

“And we look good?”

“Oh, Dean,” says Dean 2, shaking his head. “We look damn good.”

“Don’t let him fool you with how smoothly he delivered that,” Sam warns, now tying a tie with the fluid grace one can only have if they’ve done it hundreds of times. “HE says that to his reflection every day. It’s just now he might get a response.”

“I do not,” Dean 2 says, but he doesn’t really put his heart into it.

“Whatever. I’ll be back in a few--be sure to get actual research done, Dean. And you,” he adds, pointing at Dean, “Please keep him on track. He tends to get distracted.” And then he’s gone. Dean’s a little amazed at how quickly he changed.

“Right,” says Dean 2, opening up the laptop. “Let’s do some alternate universe research. It’s my specialty.” He cracks his knuckles and starts typing.

After a few minutes, Dean says, “Hey. How long have you known Cas?”

“Few years,” Dean 2 says without looking up. “Huh. This god sent people to alternate universes as punishment. Too bad we killed him last year.” Then he looks over. “Why?”

“Are you.” Dean pauses. Is this really the question he wants to ask right now? Is it a question he should really ask ever? It makes sense to ask it--Dean 2, after all, has been making weird eyes at the angel the whole time Dean’s been here. It’s a legitimate question, but he still kind of shakes when he finally blurts it out.

“Dude, what--”

“Are you in love with him?”

Dean 2 stares at him, mouth so wide it’s almost comical. “Why the _hell_ \--”

“Well, you guys stare at each other a lot and make heart eyes, I don’t know. And I’m you so I obviously won’t tell anybody.”

“No, I got that, it’s just...” Dean 2 hesitates. “That’s kind of a difficult question, man.”

“I know,” says Dean quietly.

“I just.” Dean 2 rubs his face. “He pulled me from Hell. Literally Hell. I had sold my soul to save Sammy when somebody killed him and Cas pulled me back out.”

Dean suddenly can’t breathe. This universe’s Dean and Cas’s relationship is so...well, for lack of a less cheesy word, it’s profound. It’s deep. It’s important. No wonder Dean 2 makes moon eyes at Cas--Cas fucking pulled him from hell.

“So,” he says, unable to think of anything remotely intelligent.

“Well, you’re me. So I guess--yeah. Yeah, I like him. Maybe I love him. And if you dare,” he says loudly, pointing a finger at Dean, “ever tell Sam how fucking sappy I’m being right now, I will personally see to it that you get an embarrassing tattoo on your ass.”

“Already have one,” says Dean, grinning. “But I promise I won’t tell your Sam anything I wouldn’t tell my Sam.”

This seems to satisfy Dean 2.

“How long?” Dean asks softly.

“I don’t know.” Dean 2’s looking back down at his laptop, but he isn’t making a move to do any further research. “I don’t think I knew until you asked. He’s just always been there, you know?”

Dean knows. God, he knows. His Cas was always there when he was puking from stress or from a hangover, always next to him and rubbing his back soothingly. His door was always open when Sam and Dean needed some shelter from their dad. When their dad died, Cas was there and hugging them when they cried and helping Sam with his homework when Dean couldn’t function. He was there and pulling the bottle from Dean when he was trying to make himself numb and taking every hit Dean threw toward him, angry at everything, angry at the world, but never angry at Cas. Not ever angry at Cas.

Until he woke up next to him. Until he realized the huge thing he had done--the huge thing that they had done together, and he was overwhelmed with the size of it.

“I know,” Dean says.

“What about your Cas? What’s he like?”

A laugh escapes Dean’s lips. “He’s a total geek. He wears sweaters and he’s an art history major.”

Dean 2 laughs too, sounding a bit more lighthearted. “Wow.”

“Yeah, there’s none of that ‘smiting you if I so please’ or whatever your Cas said. And he laughs a bit more. And I’ve never seen him in a suit, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t wear his tie backwards.”

Dean 2 laughs harder. “I’ve tried fixing that so many times. But for some reason it just keeps turning around. I think he’s sentimental and he just won’t admit it.”

“That sounds likely. My Cas has been holding onto this hideous sweater since we were in, like eighth grade.”

“You’ve known him since you were in eighth grade? Didn’t you move around a lot?”

“Well. Yeah. But he lived in Sioux Falls and we always went back there because Bobby lived nearby. Dad needed somewhere to drop us off when he had to go and try out another job.”

“Sounds like Dad,” Dean 2 mutters. He presses a few keys on the laptop and his eyes scan the page.

“Yeah, so we always met up. And we left, we kept in touch. We applied to the same colleges and chose the one that we both got accepted into.” Dean shrugs. “It worked out.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“Since I answered when you asked about...well, about what was between Cas and I. Can you tell me why you were so, I don’t know, weird to Cas when you first met us? Like I thought you would be weird to me, but you were weird to Cas.”

“Oh, right.” Dean grimaces. “Uh. Well, we were both drunk. And we, um. We slept together?”

Dean 2’s eyes widen. “You _what_?”

“We slept together.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” Embarrassed, Dean rubs the back of his neck. “It was stupid. It was a mistake.”

Dean 2 is looking at him strangely. “Yeah, I can imagine. Do--” Then his phone is vibrating and blaring _Ramble On_ and they both look down. Dean 2 answers the phone. “Hey, Sammy. Yeah, I’m working. You know what? Remember that god we ganked February of last year? Yeah. He could send people to alternate universes. Heh. Woops.”

Dean can hear Sam make an irritated sound.

“Whatever, Sam. I’m researching. Mini-me can vouch, I swear.” Dean 2 rolls his eyes at Dean. “I’m not a little kid, Sam. I’m your older brother. And I’m doing research.” He hangs up and sighs. “I hate research.”

“Let me,” says Dean. “I’m pro. College, remember?”

Dean 2 blinks. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Just go make us something to eat. I know I make killer burgers.”

“Oh, god, I know. They’re so fucking good.” Dean 2 jumps to his feet, looking ecstatic. “I’ll go get the ingredients. I’ll be right back.”

 

Three hours later, they’re done with the burgers and Sam’s finally getting home. Dean’s got about seven tabs open with useful information--he used to have about twenty, but Dean 2 had gone through them when he was done making the burgers and eliminated the ones that “just didn’t make sense.”

“Dude,” Dean had said, frowning. “Using the heart of a werewolf is more plausible than the hand of a walking mummy?”

“Duh. Mummies can’t walk. They’re _dead_.”

Now, Sam enters the motel room and strips off his suit, changing back into jeans and a plaid shirt. He wears just as much plaid as Dean’s Sam does, which is just a ridiculous amount. “Hey, guys. Find anything interesting?”

“Apparently mummies can’t walk,” says Dean bitterly.

“Of course not.” Sam wanders into the kitchen and sniffs out the leftover burger, which he sticks into a microwave. “They’re dead.”

“Oh, but werewolves and vampires. They’re perfectly plausible? And _gods_?”

“Don’t forget demons,” Dean 2 pipes up.

“You’re kidding me.”

“That’s why I said _Christo_ when I saw you. Just to make sure you weren’t one.”

“And what would have happened if I was a demon?”

“Your eyes would turn black,” Sam says. “ _Christo_ is God’s name in Latin. It makes them temporarily unable to glamour themselves.”

“Weird.”

The microwave beeps, and Sam takes out his burger. “There are a lot of weird things out there.”

“Like fairies?”

Dean 2 shudders. “Yeah, like fairies.”

“But aren’t they supposed to be twinkly and cute or whatever?”

Both of the other men laugh. “No,” Sam says. “Oh, god, no, they are so far from twinkly and cute. They’re _evil_.”

“They kidnapped me once,” Dean 2 informs Dean, shuddering. “It was awful.”

“More awful than Hell?”

“You heard about that?” Sam sits down and digs into his burger. “Dark times.”

“Sammy was in Hell, too,” Dean 2 says. “And you know what? Yeah. It was worse than Hell. At least in Hell I knew what the fuck was going on. With the fairies...God, I had no idea. It was confusing. And scarring.”

“Pretty sure they probed him,” Sam whispers around a mouthful of meat. “He won’t talk about it, though.”

“So,” Dean 2 says loudly. “How’d the interviews go? Humans, right?”

Sam sighs. “Humans.” He digs into his pocket, pulls out his wallet, and hands over twenty bucks.

“Seriously?” Dean asks. “Humans?” Next to him, Dean 2 is whooping and tucking his newly acquired money into his back pocket.

“They sold their trouble family members to some creep,” Sam says. “I called a nine-eleven operator and left enough clues for them to find him. It’s all taken care of.”

“Gross,” Dean says.

“I hate humans,” Dean 2 says, and when Dean looks at him funny: “No, seriously. Monsters have an excuse. Some of them have souls. Some of them are ghosts and they don’t have control over it. Some of them are demons and they are, you know. Demons. But humans, man. Humans don’t have an excuse. They’re just crazy.”

“Isn’t insanity an excuse?”

“But humans are freakin’ evil,” Dean 2 says. “They’re awful.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Cas says, who is apparently right behind them. He swishes (Dean likes to think of Cas’s movement as swishing because his coat just billows around him whenever he twitches) around to the front of the couch and looks down at them.

“Hi, Cas,” says Dean 2, almost sheepishly. “Sorry if that made you like offended or anything. I know you love humanity or whatever.”

“It didn’t offend me, Dean,” Cas says. “Besides, you saved the world multiple times. You couldn’t possibly hate humanity. And,” he adds, looking almost smug, “I found a way to get Dean home.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, Destielalltheway2, if you're out there, I am so, so sorry. I lied to you. I am an awful person and also like ten minutes late.   
> Another apology to everybody out there because most of this chapter is just crappy dialogue? Oops? Heh.   
> Merry Christmas Adam. (Get it? geT IT?!) (because Adam instead of Eve)  
> (and also. you know. Adam. I don't know if you remember him but he's a Winchester, too, believe it or not. They have a brother.)

Dean doesn’t know why he’s so bummed out.

Because, really? That’s really fucking selfish. Beanpole needs to get home. He has his own Sam there and he has friends and he has a life and if Dean’s bummed out, that means that he’ll try to get Beanpole to stay, and that means he’s trying to keep him away from the life that Dean always wished he could have.

But. It was nice, okay? To have somebody that he can talk to. To have somebody to whom Dean can tell anything and know for sure that his secrets won’t be told to anybody.

It’s like. Extra room for his brain. So he doesn’t have to keep it all pent up and take his anger out on the people that he actually needs close. He won’t judge himself, right? And Beanpole would know that if he was in the situation Dean was in--like, for instance, if Beanpole was in Hell--he would do the exact same thing that Dean did.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice pulls Dean to reality. “You okay? You’re kind of quiet.”

Dean glances at Beanpole, who is sifting through his tapes with squinty eyes, and then quickly looks at Sam in the rearview mirror. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Do you have the ritual memorized?”

“I’m _driving_ , Sam.” But that isn’t really the issue, here. Dean’s actually kind of awesome when it comes to memorizing rituals and symbols and spells. And he’s _really_ fucking good at Latin. Sammy may be book-smart and all nerdy and shit, but Dean’s got Latin and rituals _down_.

“Never stopped you before,” Sam mutters, ever the little shit.

“Shut up, Sam. Would _you_ be able to concentrate if you were sitting next to yourself?”

Sam quiets at that, and Dean tries not to feel too smug.

“You need to drive faster,” says Cas’s gravelly voice, now filling the car. He had appeared next to Sam and was leaning forward, gazing intently out the front window. “You don’t have much time.”

“It’s only midnight, Cas. We have six hours.”

“I don’t remember the barn being that far away,” says Beanpole, muttering.

Cas, somehow, glares at both of them. “You still need to prepare for the spell. You need to draw the proper symbols in the correct places and you need to prepare the correct formula and you need to get Dean prepared.”

“Beanpole or me?” Dean asks.

Cas frowns. “Bean--not you.”

Dean snorts.

“What am I supposed to do?” asks Beanpole, alarmed.

“You don’t do anything,” Sam says. “We’re going to draw all over you. _In  your own blood_.”

“Shit,” Beanpole says. “Are you serious?”

“No, Sam is not serious,” Cas says helpfully. “We’re going to be using lamb’s blood.”

“Gross.” Beanpole pulls out a Metallica tape and pushes it into the player. “Do all the rituals require blood?”

“Usually, yeah. Blood magic,” says Dean, wiggling his fingers on the steering wheel. “Or whatever. I don’t know what the fuck it’s called. Blood’s involved with everything. Here we are.” He pulls the Impala into the dirt area in front of the barn and looks over at Beanpole, who is frowning. “You okay, Beanpole?”

“I just.” Beanpole shrugs. “I haven’t even been gone for that long, but. I’m kind of dreading it. The whole thing with Cas...”

The only person who looks over curiously is Sam, and _fuck_ no Dean knows that Beanpole won’t tell him a thing, that he’ll let Dean do the talking when he’s ready.

And Dean isn’t ready.

Preparing for the ritual is, predictably, a long and tedious process. It isn’t as bad as when Dean had to memorize the exorcism (which took for fucking ever; Dean spent three road trips just chanting “ _exorcizamus te, omnis immunus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion, infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregation et secta diabolica_ \--” and, you know, the rest of it, over and over until Sam finally got fed up and threatened to start another prank war), and Dean messed up the demon trap like three times (but no demons actually got away, thankfully. If you put the trap in plain sight they didn’t even try to leave) before he finally got it right. Sam had had to use Dad’s book when drawing a trap until like two years ago, so it isn’t like Dean did too badly on that one.

This ritual requires, of course, chanting, as well as some weird blood symbols everywhere around the barn that will probably never come off of the wood. Well, Dean decides, if anybody were to walk into the barn, it would probably be best that they immediately left. It would be bad if they got stuck in another universe that didn’t have Cas to help them. Sam mixes up the lambs’ blood and about fifty other ingredients that Cas had been popping in and out of the barn for and starts painting, staring down at this little piece of paper that Dean had scribbled the symbols on. He’s super careful while he does it and snaps at anybody who tries to interrupt him. Dean paces back and forth and mutters the ritual to himself, asking Cas every five second or so to make sure he’s pronouncing “ _portas est terra_ ” correctly, since that’s kind of the most important part, and Cas tells him from where he is working on something important that yes, Dean, that is the perfect pronunciation, now please do not interrupt me. He says this in a much less irritated voice than Sam, though, which Dean appreciates.

Beanpole, wisely, stays out of the way with a wary look on his face. He sits in the corner of the barn in the dirt with his legs crossed, watching them with his fingers steepled under his chin. Occasionally he asks what they’re doing, but he doesn’t really bother them.

After about two hours, Sam has finally fucking got everything done and Dean’s got everything memorized and Cas is done doing whatever he’s doing, but Dean’s pretty sure that he did whatever he did perfectly.

The fact that Dean kind of wants to tear his clothes of might have something to do with his opinion but he’s rolling with it.

Jesus Christ. Ever since Dean’s actually admitted that he might have the hots for Cas (and possibly for other men but mostly Cas) he’s been having all of these urges just seizing his body every now and then. It makes him a bit nervous because he’s still not entirely sure whether or not Cas can read his mind.

If Cas is reading is mind right now, he’d just see a lot of trench coats. On the floor. And possibly his own naked torso, because that’s all that Dean has actually seen of Cas, unfortunately.

“Dean.”

Dean jumps and looks over at Cas. He’s standing by a shirtless Beanpole (wait, what?) and holding this shit brush in his hand. “Yeah, man,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm because what the actual fuck is happening right now.

“You need to grab another brush and help paint the symbols,” Cas says. Oh. That’s what’s happening. Dean steps forward and takes the extra brush and dips it in the bowl Sam combined everything in. He dabs some of the paint onto Beanpole’s tiny torso, smirking a little.

“Oh my god,” Beanpole says. “Are you kidding me right now? You’re _laughing_ at me?”

“Well,” says Dean. “You are a beanpole. To be fair.”

“I am _not_. I’m lean. And not on steroids.”

Dean chuckles. “Not my fault you don’t ever lift weights.” Dean doesn’t either, but he isn’t going to mention that. He moves to the front of Beanpole to paint another symbol and frowns because Beanpole’s got a fucking anti-possession tattooed over his heart. “Uh. Is that what I think it is?”

Beanpole looks down. “What?”

“The tattoo.”

Now Beanpole is smirking. “Which one?”

Dean pokes it. “That one.”

“Oh. I don’t know what you think it is, but it’s just this thing that Sam--my Sam, I mean--found in one of his nerdy books. Like. An anti-possession thing or something. To protect us. It’s probably just really stupid because you guys are like--” He stops because Dean’s pulled down the neck of his shirt and is displaying his own anti-possession tattoo. “Holy shit.”

“It works,” Dean says, grinning. “Believe me, it works.”

“That’s fucking awesome. Sam actually got it right for once.” Beanpole looks thrilled. “That’s another thing to add to the list of things to tell Sam.”

“Well, you’re done.” Dean steps back. Sam and Cas step forward and give Beanpole this long spiel about what he’s supposed to do and what he’s not supposed to do. Dean doesn’t really listening because he’s staring at Cas’s ass and it’s pretty much masked by the trench coat but Dean can tell it’s a good ass as far as asses go. He wishes Beanpole took that coat when they first met, now, so Dean could have seen Cas’s ass.

“Dean? Dean!” Sam stabs Dean with his finger. “Dude, pay attention. This is kind of important.”

“Right,” Dean says, shaking himself out of his stupor. “Right, yeah. I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

They have about four and a half hours left, so Dean gets right to it. God, he’s fucking exhausted, but he’s doing it.

He recites the spell while Sam and Cas throw blood places and say other words and what does Dean know he didn’t read the rest of the ritual he just memorized the symbols and what he’s supposed to say. And watched Cas the rest of the time.

When they’re done, for a few minutes, nothing happens, and Dean panics because he just _knows_ that he got the “portals of the earth” part wrong. But then the light opens, just like before, and it looks like the air is being ripped apart so this light can be here. Beanpole looks at it nervously.

“Okay,” says Cas, “You know what to do. You have about two minutes.”

Beanpole hugs Cas first, tightly, burying his nose in Cas’s neck. Dean supposes that he can get away with that since he’s going to leave soon, and he feels this pang of jealousy at how Cas hugs him back, just as tightly.

“Take care, Dean,” says Cas in his rumbly voice.

“Thanks, Cas,” Beanpole mutters, and then he hugs Sam, and tells him that he promises to give Sam the letter. Dean doesn’t know what that means. It’s probably heartfelt and important. Sammy trying to communicate to his younger, more innocent self.

Beanpole goes to Dean last. He stands in front of him and offers his hand. Dean shakes it.

“Thanks, man,” Dean says, smiling a little. “I’m gonna miss having somebody to talk to.”

“We had, like, one real conversation,” Beanpole chuckles, but Dean knows that he gets it. Then he says, quieter, only so Dean can hear (if Cas wasn’t an angel): “Listen. Don’t let him go.”

“What?”

“Don’t let Cas go. I fucked up with my Cas, man. And I’m pretty sure your Cas likes you back, so don’t fuck it up with him.” Beanpole raises his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, sure, man,” says Dean, flustered.

“Seriously.”

“Okay.”

“ _Promise me_.”

Dean feels the urge to hit his doppelganger. “I _promise_ , Jesus Christ.”

Beanpole claps him on the back and turns around.

“Thirty seconds,” Cas warns, but it isn’t really needed because Beanpole’s leaping through the light and is gone before he’s done with the warning. Dean stares at the empty air with a sinking feeling.

“Well,” Sam says. “That was. Well, it was interesting. You’re punk version is a pretty cool dude, man. Maybe in that universe I’m punk, too.”

“I hope not,” Cas mutters, and Sam stares at him with an offended expression that’s mixed with a bit of shock.

“Listen, Cas,” says Dean. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, but. I don’t know. It might be stupid.”

“Just ask the question, Dean,” says Cas, not sounding nearly as irritated as he probably should be.

“You said that our universes weren’t parallel, but most universes are. Does that mean that one of the universes also intersects with all of the other universes? Like, that’s probably stupid, but. Lines,” he finishes lamely.

“Your hypothesis is probably correct,” Cas says, looking thoughtful. Then he smiles. “We just don’t know which universe is off-kilter, now, do we?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go. It's the last chapter, and I would blame it on Christmas that I'm later than usual with this, but that would be a total lie since I'm celebrating tomorrow. If this disappoints at all in an ending, let me know, and I'll think about doing something about it. I'm not sure I will, but I'll definitely think about it.  
> I am also thinking about doing something for our canon Dean, but no promises. If you guys actually want something like that, I'll probably do it, but still. No promises.

Dean doesn’t quite remember this experience the first time he travelled between universes. The first time, he had just kind of walked into the light and the next thing he knew he was being hurled forward, eventually colliding with this giant muscly dude.

This time, though, he leaps through, and then he’s in this spinning tunnel of light, and it feels almost like he’s flying at warp speed but he can breathe and see fine--either the tunnel of light is passing by him quickly, or there’s just no air to get in his eyes.

Then he’s being tossed out of the tunnel and into the barn. His own universe’s barn. Without symbols painted over the walls. Without Cas in a trench coat. Without a giant version of Sam--without a giant version of himself.

His own universe.

He takes a deep breath of the air. It’s clean. Familiar. The other universe had had a weird tang when he breathed in, like a permanent smell of rotten eggs. Dean reckons it probably has something to do monsters, but he never bothered to ask, and nobody else mentioned it. They might be used to it.

Dean picks himself up from where he fell on the floor and brushes himself off.

He knows what he should do, what he should have done as soon as he woken up.

Because, really? Didn’t Cas say that most things were parallel or whatever? And if that universe’s Dean was in love with Cas and stared at Cas all the time...

Well. Dean can see, now, what really happened.

He’d known Cas for years. Since eighth grade, like he’d told his counterpart. They’d met at the Winter Dance (not the Winter Formal; middle schoolers were thought to be incapable of dressing nicely); Dean had had Lisa as a date, and she was swaying in the corner with her friends while Dean had gone to get a snack, unable to resist the temptation. Cas--Dean knew him as Castiel, then, just the weird kid who had giant eyes and knew all of the answers to the questions that teachers asked--was serving drinks at one of the refreshment tables.

“Hey,” Dean had said, walking up. “Could I have a water?” He couldn’t get the sticky feeling of the candy he’d gotten out of his mouth.

“Sure,” said Cas, “That’ll be a dollar.”

“A _dollar_?” Dean said. “A _dollar_? This is highway robbery!”

“I thought so, too,” Cas said dryly. He rolled his eyes. He had the bluest eyes that Dean had ever seen, and they almost glowed in the dim lighting of the gym. “Hey,” Cas said, “If you want. There’s a water fountain back there.” He jerked his head to the area behind him. “They only want people who volunteered to use it, but. I don’t know, if you want to use it.”

“Thanks, man,” Dean said, giving him a grateful smile.

“No problem.”

Dean hadn’t really gone back to Lisa after that. He’d hung out around Cas, helping him out some, occasionally going back to the water fountain because, “Well, now I’m volunteering, right?”

“It was a gift, Dean.”

Dean was surprised that Cas had known his name. He was kind of invisible--he always was in school. He knew that he would move on after a month or so and leave everybody behind, doomed to loose contact with the people he did make friends with a week after he left. It was wisest to just stay out of the way and not make friends with people so he wouldn’t have to suffer the loss.

“Sorry,” he said. “But how do you even know who I am?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said, shrugging. “You just. I don’t know. You’ve got a memorable face.”

Dean didn’t know what that meant, but he stayed the rest of the dance with Cas, and then invited Cas over to his house for a quick game. They’d been friends ever since.

Dean doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before. Every time he’d been upset, he had invited Cas over and Cas would just talk to him. About everything except for the thing that Dean didn’t want to talk about. He never pushed Dean, never made him do something he didn’t want to do. If Dean wanted to talk, Cas would just murmur, “If you’re sure,” and scoot a little closer so Dean could just whisper it in his ear.

And then, when they had left Sioux Falls, they had exchanged numbers, and then _they’d stayed in touch_. Dean almost couldn’t believe it. Cas called him every day and talked and let Dean talk and they had such fun conversations that the time passed so quickly and Dean almost didn’t notice when their time was up and John was stumbling home, looking for dinner after a day of working/drinking/pissing people off. He gave Cas a hasty goodbye, and spent the rest of the night and the next day anticipating the next call.

It was almost obvious.

And as they got older and entered high school, Cas told Dean about girls vying for his attention, and Dean’s _feeling_ in the pit of his stomach that he always blamed on the dinner. But Dean talked about girls too, because he felt like he needed to prove to Cas that he, too, was getting attention as he matured. He was reluctant, but he told Cas, and Cas just laughed his rumbly laugh--more rumbly as the years passed--and they moved on.

Every time Dean came by again and stayed with Bobby, they would forget about all of the conversations they had. Dean would go over to Cas’s house and they would sit together in Cas’s room, just side by side, talking about everything and nothing at all. No girls were mentioned. They just enjoyed each other’s company.

It was a fucking _no brainer._

Dean was in Tallahassee when Cas called him about colleges. He had insisted that this--this was their chance. This was their chance to actually stick around each other without fearing that Dean would move away again. They could apply to the same colleges, go to the same college. They could be roommates, if they wanted. Dean had been so excited. He could finally hang out with his best friend. They could hang out every night. They could watch movies, talk to each other’s faces instead of through phones.

And then he had gotten the acceptance letters, and Cas had gotten the same acceptance letter for one a college they had in common, and it was like the best day of Dean’s life.

Two weeks after Dean had gone to college, after he’d had a long screaming match with his father over the phone because _my sons don’t go to fucking sissy colleges_ and Dean had told him that he didn’t deserve to be their father, they were too good to be his sons.

He wasn’t going to fucking fall for that. Not again. After eighteen years of getting beat up and yelled at by that asshole, he wasn’t going to fall for that, especially with Cas sitting right next to him. Cas, who made him feel so brave and strong and important. Cas.

Dean should have known it as soon as he had gone up to the nerdy boy in the sweater, the one who knew all of the answers and the one with the small smile that made his glowing eyes crinkle in the corners. He loved him. He _loves_ him.

Dean wants to shout it to the world-- _I love him, I love him, I love him_.

He almost runs to the Impala and hops in--it smells stale, but he ignores it. _He loves Cas._ He needs to tell him. He needs to tell _somebody_. Especially Cas. And he needs to kiss him again, this time without having to hide behind alcohol or a stupid dare.

“I love him,” Dean whispers to the steering wheel as he turns the Impala on. “I _love_ him.” He should have told him as soon as he woke up, should have leaned over and pressed his lips to Cas’s and curled his arms around his waist and just _gone_ with it, because it’s beautiful, because Cas is Dean’s best friend, because Cas would _never_ do anything to hurt Dean, and Dean knows that, now.

He drives. He takes the road that he had taken the day before so angrily, so furiously, and now he drives down it with a slight smile on his face.

He’s got this. He’s fucking _got_ this.

The ride back feels much longer than the ride there. Dean puts on some Led Zeppelin and bobs his head to it as he drives, then some Metallica. The songs remind him of sitting in the passenger seat--like that’s ever going to happen again.

Well, if Cas wants to drive the Impala, Dean’s definitely going to let him. He flexes his hand, imagining driving with Cas next to him, their fingers interlaced.

Since when did he get so damned sappy?

Four hours later, he’s finally pulling onto the main road and it takes another hour before he gets home, to his apartment. There’re cars surrounding it--black and white. Cops, Dean realizes, but he can’t figure out why cops would be here. Maybe somebody got hurt.

He parks a few blocks away because there is absolutely no room in the parking lot and he runs over to the apartment. He just needs to change before--

Immediately about twenty faces turn toward him--Pamela, Jo, Ellen, Bobby, Jody, Sam, Cas, Ash, and a whole bunch of cops, just wide eyed and kind of in shock.

“Hey,” Dean says, jogging up to them. “Did something happen?”

Ellen steps forward and smacks him. Bobby whacks him around the head.

“Ow,” Dean says. “What the fuck?”

“Where have you been?” Jo’s suddenly sobbing and hugging him around the waist, and Sam is just standing there with Cas like he’s in shock. Cas is wearing this giant trench coat (holy shit why is he wearing a trench coat) and has his hands in the pockets and he’s just staring, eyes wide, his hand on Sam’s shoulder like it’s there to comfort him but it’s just...there. Not doing anything. Resting.

“Where have you _been_ , boy?” Ellen and Bobby ask at the exact same time.

“Driving,” Dean says.

“Driving?” Sam blurts out. “You’ve been _driving_ for a week?”

“A week?” Dean rubs his face. “I’ve been gone for a week?”

Everybody kind of gapes at him. Some of the cops step forward. “We need to ask you a few questions, son.”

It turns out, Dean has been gone for a week. When he’d stormed out of Cas’s apartment, it had been a few hours before Benny, Dean’s roommate, had called Cas looking for him. Cas had explained that Dean spent the night there but he’d left, and they’d gone on a frantic call-everybody-Dean-knows thing and then Bobby was driving in with Sam (“You missed _school_ for this?” “We thought you were _dead_ , Dean”) and they were all searching the town and Jo apparently was sobbing her heart out the entire time (“I was not!”) and Sam was just depressed and--

“I was gone for a week,” Dean says, incredulous.

“A week,” Sam says again. He’s been glued to Dean’s side ever since he’s gotten over his shock.

“Holy shit.”

“Mr. Winchester, if you could pay attention.”

The cops ask him a few questions--where he’d been, if he was with anybody, was somebody holding him prisoner?

“No, seriously,” Dean says, “I wasn’t being held prisoner. And I didn’t know I was gone for a week--I thought I was just gone for the day. I spent a few hours driving one place and a few hours driving back.”

“A place?” the cop interviewing him scribbles something onto a notepad. “Where is this place?”

“I dunno, a barn. I just drove. And I ended up there. It wasn’t really a place I chose, so I’m not really sure where it is. It takes a few hours to get there.”

“Hours?” The cops look at each other. “Must be out of state,” one of them mutters. “Do you think--” And then they say, “Do you have a record, Mr. Winchester?”

“Can’t you check that?”

“Yes. But it’s always faster to ask directly, unless we have reason to believe that you’re lying.”

“Uh. I’ve got a juvee record, but that was cleared.”

They narrow their eyes. “For what?”

“I stole something for my Sammy. Once.”

“Bread,” Sam mutters into Dean’s arm. “It was bread.”

“Why didn’t you just buy it? Why’d you steal? For the thrill of it?”

Now Dean’s angry again. “No. No! We were out of fucking bread and my dad was too much of a deadbeat to get it. But I made up for it and the judge cleared it.”

They look at each other again. “Check just in case,” one of them mutters.

“What is this about?” Jo asks the question almost angrily, holding onto Dean’s shoulder. Ellen and Bobby are standing right behind Dean, and Pamela right next to Jo. The only person, really, who isn’t crowded around Dean is Cas, and he’s standing a safe distance back in his _trench coat_ (Dean’s still a little amazed), looking nervous.

“If you could give me a moment with Dean,” says the only cop left after the rest have gone.

“No,” Jo says stubbornly.

“Jo, it’s okay,” says Dean. The people around him reluctantly leave.

“There’s been a killer,” says the cop to Dean. “They’re targeting tattooed men with records. That’s the only connection.”

“Check their tattoos,” says Dean without thinking, and he immediately wants to smack himself in the forehead. What if it isn’t the same guy? God, he’s such a fucking idiot. Now he seems like a suspect.

“What?” the cop asks.

“I dunno,” Dean lies. “I just thought.”

“No, seriously, elaborate,” the cop whispers. He’s a muscly black man with weird facial hair and he’s bald and Dean totally does not like that look. “We have no leads. Just a whole bunch of tattooed guys with slit throats.”

“How long did the families say they were missing?”

“A day. No more.”

“Do you have pictures?”

“It’s pretty dark,” the cop warns. “You might not have the stomach.”

“I’ve seen some nasty shit. Just show me.”

The cop pulls out his phone and displays to Dean one of the pictures. It’s the same guy that Dean had first seen on Other Sam’s computer. He points out the Latin tattoo and explains what’s wrong with it. The cop looks at him with a strange expression, almost like wonder. He sticks out a hand. “Henrickson.”

“Uh. Dean. Obviously.”

“You’ve got a good eye, Dean. Now, I’m not going to ask you how you knew that was there, but if anything fishy points to you, I’m coming for you, got that?”

Henrickson does not look like a guy who jokes around. “Uh, yeah. Got it.”

“Now tell me more about this. What does the tattoo mean?”

“ _Caveam quattuordecim_ ,” Dean recites, remembering how his other self had pronounced it. “It’s Latin. It means ‘cage fourteen’.”

“Shit,” says Henrickson. “They were organized.”

“And they’ve been held for longer than their families let on, yeah,” Dean says, and then he decides he needs to stop now, just finishing with: “You might want to talk to them again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Henrickson. “Uh. Mind if I take the credit for this?”

“Feel free, man, I don’t need more questions,” Dean says.

“You really don’t know where you’ve been? Your family was worried. Especially that fella,” he says, jerking his head toward where Cas is still standing. “He was really freaking out.”

“My best friend,” says Dean.

“Listen, man,” says Henrickson, standing, shaking Dean’s hand. “It was good to meet you. If you think of anything else, give me a call.” He hands over a business card, and Dean smiles down at it.

“I don’t think you’ll need my help, but thanks.”

“Then if you’re in a bind,” Henrickson says. “You really saved my ass. I might even get a promotion. Aiming for the FBI.”

“Good luck,” says Dean. “I’m going to go back to my friends, if that’s okay?”

“That’s fine,” Henrickson says. “You might want to avoid disappearing again.”

“Oh, I will. No more storming off for me.” Dean grins and runs over to the others. Jo hugs him, Sam grips his arm so tight it hurts. “Guys, guys. I’m fine. Seriously.”

“But where _were_ you?” Pamela asks.

“I don’t know. I told you. I don’t remember.” Dean feels sick to his stomach lying to them, and Other Sam’s note is weighing heavily in his pocket, but the only people who’re going to learn about this are Sam and Cas.

If Cas forgives him for being such an asshole. For threatening to lose his number. For calling him by his full name when Cas had explained it that first night that he hated the whole thing. He hasn’t said a word since Dean’s returned, and Dean’s feeling like he lost his chance as soon as he was hurled into another dimension.

But, seriously? He wouldn’t have gotten it if he hadn’t met Sam 2 and Dean 2 and Trench Coat Cas. He wouldn’t have seen Dean 2’s moony eyes just gazing at Cas all the time, wouldn’t realize that how Dean 2 feels is exactly how Dean feels and Dean should have gotten his shit together a long time ago.

“Listen,” he says. “Is it okay if I just go inside and sleep? I’m wiped. I’ve been driving all day.”

“Of course,” says Ellen. “Bobby and Sam can stay at my place. Jo and Pam can get back to their dorm. Come on, come on.” She hustles everybody along and Dean waves at them before he turns and runs smack into Cas.

“Sorry,” Cas mutters, moving out of the way.

“Cas,” says Dean, and Cas freezes, rigid. Dean touches his arm. “Cas.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Cas is still muttering. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m _sorry_.”

Dean wraps him up in a hug and Cas sags against him. “You have nothing to apologize for,” Dean whispers in his ear. “You were right and I was a total ass about it. I should have known. I should have always known.”

Cas looks at him with wide eyes. Dean kisses him, ever so gently, and he knows that Cas is startled because he doesn’t move, frozen in place like a deer in headlights. His mouth does not move against Dean’s, but their lips fit perfectly together, like they were made for each other.

That thought is also chessy as hell, but Dean ignores it. He kisses Cas again, just as gently, and then pulls back.

“I’m going to go up to my dorm,” he whispers. “Is it okay if you come with me? I want to talk to you.”

“Talk,” Cas repeats, sounding numb.

“Yeah. Talk. Nothing else, I promise.”

Cas drops off the coat with Henrickson, muttering about how it’s really his and he just noticed how cold Cas was, and then they both go up to Dean’s room. It, too, smells stale, but Dean just collapses on the bed and moves over so Cas can sit next to him, and Cas does, very gingerly. He avoids Dean’s eyes.

Dean tells him everything. He tells him everything from when he stormed out of his apartment to now. And Cas only looks up when Dean says that he realized Dean 2 was in love with his Cas.

“Is this just. Are you making this up so I don’t get pissed at you?”

“God, no,” Dean says. “You want proof? Here.” He hands over Sam’s note. It’s in an envelope and Dean hasn’t read it but he knows what’s in there. He knows what Sam put in there ‘just in case’. And it’s the first thing that Cas pulls out and his eyes widen.

“Holy shit,” Cas breathes. Dean smiles. It’s a picture--a picture that Sam 2 and Dean 2 and Cas 2 and Dean had all taken together, all squished into the frame, grinning in that shitty little motel. They had printed it out as soon as Cas had come back with the news that Dean could go home, and Sam 2 insisted that people back home would need proof that his whole endeavor had been real.

Well, here it is. Proof.

Cas smiles slowly. The corners of his eyes crinkle. “I look so. I don’t know. My eyes look weird.”

“You’re an angel,” says Dean. “Well, not you. He is. He was popping in and out of places.”

Cas laughs a little. “The tie’s backwards. And look at _Sam_. God, he’s so old. And you’ve got.” He starts snorting. “Look at you. You hunk.”

Dean hits him. “Shut up.”

“No, I.” Cas looks up, then, and he blushes. “Do you really mean it?”

“I mean it, I swear.”

“You’re kind of stupid, you know that?” Cas asks. “I mean. You had to go to a completely alternate universe to get your shit together.”

Jesus Christ.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says. “I love you.” He leans forward and he kisses Cas and Cas kisses him back, and it is so, so much better than that drunken night that Dean remembers. But when he leans closer, Cas gently pushes him away.

“You need to sleep,” he says.

“Aw, come on, Cas.”

Cas smiles again and kisses him, his lips lingering on Dean’s. “From what I heard, you got absolutely no sleep.”

“Will you stay with me?” Dean kicks off his boots and curls up in the blanket.

“You are not sleeping in your jeans,” says Cas sternly, stripping off his own clothes. “And, yes, I’ll stay with you.”

Dean grins, strips down to his t-shirt and boxers, and snuggles deep into the covers. Cas curls around him, the big spoon, and kisses his hair.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.

“I love you,” Dean whispers back. “I love you, I love you, I love you--”

Cas presses his lips to Dean’s neck. “I love you, too, idiot. Go to sleep.”

Dean relaxes in the other man’s embrace. He’s fine. They’re both fine. Cas is lying next to him and his family is all within the block and in another universe, his other self is considering making a move.

And he is so, so warm.


End file.
